Mags' War, Part 2
by thankyoufinnick
Summary: Finnick volunteers for the Quarter Quell, confident he and Mags can protect Katniss. But who could have predicted Peeta would volunteer? Meanwhile, Cashmere is just hoping she has what it takes not to disgrace her district or outlive her brother. When Finnick offers her a way out, she has to decide if it's worth the cost.
1. Chapter 1

Johanna can't even rage this time. She has hope, and hope is scaring her worse than anything.

 _District Four will start the rebellion. We'll join them. There won't be a Quarter Quell._

 _It won't happen. It can't happen._

She paces the house, biting her nails, waiting for...something.

 _Finnick said the fighting would break out by the end of the year!_

She's been watching the news obsessively all year. Of course the Capitol will try to downplay any unrest, but she wants a whiff of anything that'll tell her something is happening. Instead, she's gotten a vomit-inducing amount of Katniss Everdeen, and she resents the girl now more than ever.

 _Abernathy sobers up for you and started schmoozing the Gamemakers like there's no tomorrow, and Finnick disappears into the Capitol. Next thing you know, Crane's announcing a rule change. Now your little trick with the berries is going to get us all killed._

And here she'd always thought at least Blight kept it together enough to be presentable in public, while Abernathy was an embarrassment to his district. But nobody sobers up to mentor Johanna, no. Of course not.

When she can't stand it any more, she bangs her way into Blight's house, the first time she's been in there.

He's still sitting in front of the blank television, stunned, like he hasn't moved since the announcement. Johanna hasn't done anything but move.

"So that's why we woke up to so many Peacekeepers," is all he says when he finally raises his head to meet her stare.

She'd noticed it too: six Peacekeepers pacing the streets of the Village, instead of the usual two.

"It's going to be us," she says numbly, like some kind of idiot who goes around stating the obvious.

"It's going to be you, maybe," Blight corrects, sounding remarkably uninterested. At her quizzical look, he elaborates, "Getting crowned. Not me."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." It comes out less sarcastic than she intended. Right now, a vote of confidence from Blight is all she has. "Are they going to have enough tributes to pull this off?" She paces in Blight's living room while she runs through her memory. "Damn them, they are."

She glances at Blight on the couch, and his eyes meet hers, but both of them are thinking the same thing. Even if it messed up the numbers for the Capitol, neither of them is going to take themselves out of the running early. _If you want us dead, you're going to have to kill us._

"You want a drink? I need a drink." Blight finally rises, like Johanna's arrival has broken his paralysis.

Johanna does, she wants it so badly that she finds herself reaching for the offered glass. She wants a drink, she wants her pills, anything. The numbness that she'd fought so hard for so long she'd welcome now. And the hell of it is, she could go back on the pills more easily than she got off them. Sleep through the Hunger Games, wake up dead.

But she stops herself even as her fingers are closing around the glass. "Can't. I have to get ready." At Blight's look, admiring, envious, and skeptical all at once, some of her fire starts to return. "You think the Careers are drinking?" she challenges him.

Finnick called her an honorary Career, and now she has to think like one, if she wants to live up to that salute. Pay attention to her diet, train every day, don't overdo it. No academy? Fine, she'll train herself.

 _Besides, if I start, I may not be able to stop._ That's one thing the Capitol taught her about herself when they got her started on pills.

"Champagne, maybe," Blight says cynically.

"Oh, fuck them!" Johanna chokes. "They better not. They better know I'm coming for them."

"Better if they don't," Blight warns her. "You won't be underestimated this time."

Johanna takes her fire and stokes it. "Oh, yes, I will," she promises herself. Seven's tributes have a long history of going out in the bloodbath because the lumberjacks are taken seriously as opponents, but she's going to make it past the first day, and she's going out with a kill. "Excuse me, I have a busy summer ahead."

The first thing she does is head into town, to look at the selection of food on offer and see what strikes her as a Career menu. The entire way to Despard, she has a Peacekeeper escort. Making a break for it is out of the question.

They stand outside the store, waiting patiently without acknowledging her. She can tell this is how it's going to be until the Reaping.

Inside, no one meets Johanna's eyes. The shopkeeper accepts her money while staring at the countertop, and the other two customers shuffle away and become totally engrossed by the selection on the shelves, like being a victor is contagious.

She wants to shout at them not to treat her like a leper, but she's been a stranger in their midst for four years, and that's not going to change now. She finishes her transaction in the conspiracy of silence imposed on her.

On her way out the door, Johanna catches sight of her own personal Grim Reapers, and suddenly she has to say something.

In a voice that they can hear in front of and behind her, she issues her battle cry. "Four victors from Seven. Two of them me!"

No one says anything, but she can feel the vibrations in the tense atmosphere. The dead one. The zombie one. And her.

Without waiting for a response, because she wasn't talking to them, Johanna heads home. But as she's putting her food away, she's got more on her mind than just her diet, or even the Quarter Quell. She's as good as promised Finnick, and by extension District Four, that she'd make herself useful here in Seven. But she was expecting a little more time and a little more communication.

All Johanna knows is that they need lumber, and so, obviously, she should keep the lumber exports up. But she doesn't know how to do that except by encouraging submission to the Capitol. Which she could do, as a victor. But this is not a happy district, and she doesn't want to discourage resistance. She thinks she was supposed to wait until the revolution started, encourage resistance, but make sure lumber went specifically to Four.

But now she doesn't know how to wait until the revolution starts, now that her days are numbered in weeks. She'll die in the arena, without any chance to fight back.

Unless Four has a plan to keep the Hunger Games from happening. She doesn't. She can't.

So she trains.

When the phone rings one evening, Johanna doesn't even jump. She just stops her pacing in confusion, wondering what on earth that sound is. When she finally traces it to her living room, she stares at the phone like she's never seen one.

She has no friends. She hasn't given her number to anyone. Maybe the Capitol, calling its victors with instructions for the Quell?

The rings keep echoing through the house, unrelenting.

Not sure what she's going to say if it is, say, the President, Johanna picks up the phone.

She's met with a light voice on the edge of laughter, so far from what she was expecting to hear that it takes her a minute to place it.

"Finnick?!" Johanna sinks into the excessively padded chair by the end table, clutching the handset in shaking hands. "How did you get my number? Even I don't know my number!"

Finnick chuckles but doesn't give away his secrets. He gets straight to business.

"I imagine you've heard the news. Just thought I'd call and give you a heads-up out of professional courtesy. Mags and I are planning to volunteer."

All right, this is code. This is code for the rebellion, and she has to be sharp enough to decipher it over a tapped line. "Okay...I'm ready," she promises him. _Whatever it is you guys need, just tell me._

"You'll have to be," Finnick agrees. "A district like yours, with only two living victors, you're not going to have a say about ending up in the arena. Here in Four, maybe, we have more options, but the way we figure it, victors are going in and dying no matter what. We have no control over that part. So Mags and I will be in the arena."

"In the arena," she echoes. _You mean in the front lines._

"In the arena," he repeats, placing ever so slight a stress on _arena_. "Certainly not what anyone was planning, but there is absolutely no way to avoid the Quarter Quell, so we make adjustments. I'll be seeing you in the arena, and I was hoping we could talk arena strategy.

"Odds are there'll be an axe in the Cornucopia," Finnick continues. "The audience has probably already forgotten you didn't use one last time. You're District Seven, you're famous now, so that's what they'll be expecting from you. And with the kind of shape most of the other tributes are in, like Mags, they'll be seeing you as one of the competitors this time around."

"In the arena," she says. _Please tell me we're talking about a rebellion._

"I know you're in shock too. We all are. It'll be you and Blight, since neither of you will have a choice. Very few districts will have a choice: One, Two, and Four have made close to a clean sweep since the early years. So I'll be volunteering to go into the arena a second time."

Finnick's making it as clear as he can. He knows what she's thinking, and that's why he keeps repeating himself. District Four could start rebelling now and maybe not send tributes. But the other districts won't have a choice.

But none of this explains why Finnick is coming to kill them.

Johanna's not sure where to go with this information. Something is off, and for the life of her she can't figure out what. "Is this an invitation into the Career pack?"

"Well," Finnick says easily, "the Career pack depends on who comes from One and Two. But I definitely want you on my side."

 _Are we starting a rebellion in the arena? Is he saying Four's going to ally with the outlying districts?_

"You know I'm with you," Johanna says, but hesitantly. She wishes she knew what was going on. Dammit, if she were in Four, she could be in on this plan. Why did she wait so long to decide that they were for real? She could have proposed a year sooner.

For the same reason that even after Finnick hangs up, Johanna sits there trying to decide if there is a rebellion. Why send tributes to the arena if you don't have to? Why postpone a rebellion that you've been planning for decades, just to throw two of your best people away?

The only thing that makes sense is that the rebellion is an illusion, and Panem's youngest victor wants to be its only twice-crowned victor. That would mean Mags just wants to keep Annie safe, which is believable enough.

Either way, Johanna's going back.

So she trains. The Peacekeepers continue their silent vigil, without interfering, as she sprints through the Village or finds trees to chop. They don't even say anything when one of her trees lands on an empty house, wrecking the roof. They want a show? She'll give them a show.

Strength, speed, agility, axe-hurling and spear-throwing. She could be better, but she's not going down easy.

 _Planning to take out_ _these_ _Careers?_ Her dad's query is mild.

 _At least one!_

Johanna's heart is racing and her breaths coming in gasps. It's easy to attribute this to exertion, as she swings her axe hard and fast at the line she's marked out on the tree.

 _Are you coming to kill me, Finnick? Is that what this is all about?_

She's found her rage again.

* * *

The moment she sets foot in the new Hunger Games facilities, Johanna doesn't hesitate. She doesn't even waste time begrudging the fake affair. Before they can even get started with training, she's already grabbed Finnick's hand and dragged him up onto the roof. Let everyone think it's a final goodbye before they have to get psyched up to kill each other.

This is serious business, this is life or death, so she makes Finnick sit down cross-legged on the ground while she climbs onto his lap and puts her lips right next to his ear. He drapes her long hair over her shoulder. It looks like he's kissing her hair, but when she realizes it's blocking any hidden cameras from reading his lips, it makes her glad she decided to hold off cutting it until after her final interview.

Johanna seizes both of Finnick's shoulders in a death grip and hisses, "Is this a real alliance or an arena alliance? Because I can do either, you know," she warns in a snarl. "And I will kill you, Odair. I will kill you."

Finnick gives her a tender, exasperated look that had better be for the cameras. "Johanna, what makes you think I want you dead? There's a real alliance this year, and we need you."

Johanna narrows her eyes. "How do I know it's for real?"

"Because I don't need to be here. Four didn't have to send tributes, but we couldn't do anything about the rest of you. So Mags and I are here to try to get as many of us out alive as possible."

Barely appeased, Johanna demands, "All right, who's 'we'? And what's the plan?"

Slowly, her suspicions subside as Finnick rattles off a list of names that she commits to memory. None of the other Careers are in on it, but the head Gamemaker is, which is the only part that gives her hope. "He's leading this operation. Four has no power here, but what Mags has been doing there for years, he's been doing here. We've joined forces, and there's going to be a rescue if we can hold out that long."

"Okay." Johanna takes the first deep breath she's taken since the announcement. Not as good as what she'd hoped for from Four; better than what she'd feared. "What's the plan?"

"Well, here's the part you're not going to like."

Johanna's eyebrows fly up. "Oh, right, I was so thrilled by the whole Quarter Quell that I knew there had to be a catch somewhere."

Finnick is dead serious. "Katniss is the plan. She needs to be alive when the rescue comes."

"Katniss is the reason we're here!" Johanna spits. "Everyone knows it."

"I know. They're scared of her. And they should be. She has unlimited propaganda value for us. They want her dead, and we have to keep them from getting what they want, don't we?"

Johanna growls. "I suppose."

"We need her to rally the districts after the Games. What we have now is sporadic rioting combined with a lot of people holding back because they don't want a repeat of last time. Four can't fight this war alone, and we wouldn't be fighting it this year at all if not for Katniss."

"Of course. You wouldn't have stuck your neck out like this for just anyone."

Finnick has the decency to look regretful, but then he winks. "Well, if Mags and I weren't here, I assume you'd just win, without my help. Which is why I need you. Don't kill Katniss."

Johanna works her lip between her teeth, annoyed at herself. _Still a sucker for being taken seriously._

"Fine," she concedes. "Or anyone in the alliance, I suppose. Wait, you didn't list her name earlier," she accuses.

Finnick wrinkles his nose. "Yeah, that's the other catch. So far we haven't been able to get through to her. She's new, she doesn't know any of us, she doesn't trust us...She might listen to Haymitch, but he doesn't think it's safe to tell her, I do but she won't listen to me...the upshot is that we might have to work around her."

"Oh, fabulous. This was sounding too easy."

"Look, I can't tell you what to fight for or what price to set on your life. But I can tell you that Mags and I wouldn't be here if we didn't think Katniss coming out alive was more important than us coming out alive. I'll try to have your back as much as possible, Johanna, but that may not be much."

Johanna swallows while she tries to accept the realities. Nothing's going according to plan, and she might still die in there. But if there is a rescue, and it turns out Finnick really didn't have to come, she's never going to doubt him again. "This is a battle, then."

"That's how Mags and I are seeing it," Finnick confirms. "If we die, we die in the war Mags has been planning her whole life."

A minute ago, Johanna was trying to think like a Career. Now she has to think like a soldier and a Career. She can't let anyone see how scared she is, not after she made such a big deal about last time being an act.

(It was partly an act.)

Better to have a task, something to focus on.

"I've got your back," Johanna finally promises. "I won't let Katniss kill you."

Finnick grins his relief. "That's my honorary Career. Meanwhile, we're going to try to loop in a few of the others in the next couple days," he concludes. "We won't be able to say anything about a rebellion, but I'm hoping I can get a few more tributes and mentors to understand that Katniss and Peeta need to stay alive as long as possible. Let them fill in the blanks however they want."

"I'll see what I can do to get Blight on board. Is there anything else I should know about the plan itself?"

Finnick thinks, then shakes his head. "Not much. We'll all need to cut out our trackers right before the rescue, but at the last possible moment, if we're still capable of it. I'll let you know before we go into the arena if the Twelve tributes are in on the plan. If not, one of us will need to cut out their trackers. Other than that, there are a lot of parts I don't know. Everyone has their job, and the less each of us knows about the different components, the easier it'll be to keep the whole plan a secret."

Johanna tries to accept that too. Her life is in the hands of some Gamemaker. But then, in what scenario isn't it? It scares her to have her hands tied in the arena, when Katniss or even Finnick could turn on her and kill her when she least expects it. But it gives her hope at the same time. Hope that, as always, comes down to whether Finnick can be trusted.

"You know, if you were trying to neutralize me and play to win, this is how you'd do it," she points out.

He sucks in a breath through his teeth and looks annoyed. "Or you could just kill me," he suggests, too casually. "Just get Katniss out if you do, okay?"

Johanna looks down at the rooftop, half-ashamed, half-defensive, entirely pissed at being manipulated. "The other Careers aren't off limits, right?"

"Knock yourself out, as long as I don't update you with any more names."

All right. This way, she can hedge her bets. Focus on killing some other credible competitors. It'll double as keeping Katniss safe if that's for real. And then, if it doesn't look like a rescue is coming, take out Katniss, and Finnick if she has to. No different than any other arena alliance.

"I should have married Rudder," she mutters.

"I wish," Finnick says ruefully. He's still, waiting for her to work through this. She can feel his heartbeat where his chest is pressed against hers. Enviably steady, neither fast nor slow. She's sure he can feel hers, jackhammering in her chest.

"All right. I'm with you."

Just in case the cameras are watching, just in case this is her last chance to have someone believe in her before she dies, Johanna tightens her arms around Finnick, feels him clutch her convulsively for a split second, and then she pulls away.

All the way down to remake, she walks ahead and doesn't once look back.

* * *

The next morning, Johanna confronts Blight in his room. He's sitting bleary-eyed on the edge of his bed, looking as dazed as she feels, but with alcohol as his crutch instead of anger.

Johanna stands facing him with her hands on her hips. "I mean to be the one walking out, but if I'm not, it might as well be someone from home. You want a shot at all, you shut up and listen to me." Then she outlines his orders.

"If we manage to hook up, keep your head down and follow me. I won't kill you unless we're the last two standing. I'm working on getting us alliances with the outlier districts. Right now, that means Twelve. Don't kill them. Katniss and I are practically a Career pack. I'll let you know if I can add any other districts to the list. Oh, and don't kill Mags. She's dead meat anyway, and she can play the pity card with the audience. The last thing you need is to give the Gamemakers a reason to take you out."

"Yeah?" Blight looks unimpressed. "What're you gonna do if Odair comes along, hotshot?"

Johanna rolls her eyes. "Pretty boy? Maybe I'll distract him with sex." Her voice drips with scorn. If she actually thought Blight was a threat, she'd warn him off Finnick too, but she's trying not to give away more than necessary.

Blight answers with a straight face, "That might work."

"Look, I'm trying to keep you alive, asshole." _I guess it was too much to ask for you to appreciate that someone has a plan._

"Dunno why. You're the only one in Seven with a chance at walking out."

Johanna looks levelly at him. "Well, someone in this district's got to mentor. Enjoy your last taste of booze. I'll be in the training center."

* * *

Johanna meets Mags and Finnick for lunch. They've got a revolution to organize.

"Good news and bad news," she tells them. "She wants nothing to do with either me, or you." She points to Finnick. "The good news is, she seems to like you." Mags.

Finnick just looks at his mentor and laughs. "Trust Mags to pull an alliance off that no one else can. It makes no difference, then. Mags and I are a package deal."

"That's why I said it was good news," Johanna says. "Watch your back, though. Abernathy says she sees you as the biggest threat in the arena, bar none."

She had to get this information by pretending to flirt with Abernathy, who at least made up for it by keeping it lively and meeting her barb for barb. _Not too shabby, for a drunk._ Trading quips may not have been boring, but she does wonder how plausible it was. Then she remembers Finnick's reputation. Older women: experience, not looks.

Fine, she'll be the go-between. With Katniss refusing to take any of Finnick's hints, it's less suspicious for Johanna to meet with Abernathy and Finnick than for them to meet directly.

"As well she should!" Finnick smirks. "She's just not taken with my charm, is the only problem."

"Tell her to join the club," Johanna mutters. "Is there—what? What do you want?" She looks at Mags, who's prodding Finnick and preparing to sign something.

Finnick immediately turns and gives her his full attention. He's still her best interpreter, though Johanna's learning.

Mags draws a square around her face, then mimes pointing at the table and handling invisible objects, pinching her fingers together, turning her hand this way and that, moving objects around on the table. When Finnick still hesitates, she draws another square, around his face this time, and it clicks.

"You want printed out pictures of all the tributes so you can bring them up in the conversation?"

Mags nods, and Finnick is on it.

"Johanna, get us some printouts with head shots? Not a screen—she wants to be able to manipulate the pictures to get her points across better."

Johanna wants to tell him to get the printouts himself, but Mags is nicer about it. She says _please_ and _thank you_ with her hands and her smile.

Johanna scowls, but it's Mags. She does wonder what they're so eager to talk about behind her back, but she goes. Maybe it's just Finnick mother-henning and refusing to leave Mags.

Either way, she has bigger problems. Once she's back, Johanna starts grumbling, "Where does she get off, being so difficult? 'I won't cooperate unless protecting Peeta is everyone's top priority,'" she mocks. "'I won't team up with anyone who has a hope of protecting Peeta.'"

"The rest of us have something to lose too, you know," Finnick agrees, letting Johanna see a hint of resentment for the first time since they showed up in the Capitol. She doesn't understand why he's not _more_ resentful. You don't see him or Mags refusing to support the revolution unless they get what they want. "I tried," he sighs. "Tried telling her I collected secrets, hoping she might be interested in mine. No dice. Tried hinting that we know about her engagement and she has a built-in support circle, because we know what it's like to be under the presidential microscope. Nothing."

Johanna just curls her lip. Katniss made her bed, she can lie in it. Johanna at least had the sense to pick up on Finnick's hints at her Victory Ball, even when all she saw was a glittering heartthrob.

Mags, meanwhile, starts taking them methodically through the tributes.

Gloss. "Don't trust him," Finnick says, and Johanna and Mags nod.

Cashmere. "Not with us."

Johanna glances at him sharply. "But you wanted her to be?"

Finnick shrugs. "If she wanted to, she has the same reasons to join us as anyone here. But she's with them, so that's all there is to it."

Johanna looks up, surprised, and sees what she thinks is a slight look of disapproval from Mags. But Mags moves on.

Brutus. Finnick laughs. "Yeah. I'm watching my back. We may get lucky if he's in too much of a hurry to come after me and doesn't wait until he's got the rest of his pack, but he may be cautious enough to-"

Enobaria. Mags has moved her picture so that it overlaps Brutus'. Finnick tries to read some meaning into that. "Are you saying she's the bigger threat? Or that even if he's not smart enough on his own to hold off, she may talk him into it? Both. All right, well, we're all agreed to watch our backs around all four of them."

"I'm bringing down a Career," Johanna says, low and menacing, a promise more to herself and the dead than to anyone here.

Mags taps Katniss's picture. Finnick laughs again. "Her too. I'll keep the Career pack from killing Katniss, and Katniss from killing me."

Then Mags mimes shooting. Finnick's getting impatient.

"Yes, I know she's no Sheer. I'm not underestimating her. You think I would have tried that stunt on a proficient archer? Sheer was only comfortable with a sword. Can we move on?"

When Mags turns to Beetee's picture, she taps it with her finger. She and Beetee go way back.

Johanna nods and informs them with a certain sardonic relish, "Yup, the other two Katniss wants in her alliance are Nuts and Volts."

Finnick puts his chin on his hands and thinks this one through. "Beetee's solid, and Wiress is brilliant. And they work well together, so, I'd say a good choice overall. But you know what this means, Johanna?"

"Katniss is picking allies she thinks she can babysit and then take out if it gets to the endgame and they haven't been offed yet?"

Finnick shakes his head. "Yes, but not that. I'll be staying with Mags, and joining up with Katniss as soon as I can. If I can't get to her in the bloodbath, though, you and I'll both have to do our best to meet up with her."

Johanna interrupts impatiently, "We've been over all this."

"I'm not finished. If she doesn't end up with Beetee and Wiress, and neither do I, they're going to need a warrior to protect them."

"Oh no." Johanna grinds her teeth. "Oh, hell no. If she wants them as allies, she can take care of them herself. She's a warrior!"

"She's to be protected at all costs," Finnick reminds her, but it's Mags who has the final say. She pushes the pictures of Beetee and Wiress in front of Johanna.

Johanna fumes through her nose, but Mags' hands are still moving, nimble as ever. She slides Katniss's picture in front of Finnick, then Peeta's. Finnick's just started nodding, when Mags' own picture comes out of the District Four pair and lands in front of him, face down. Mags taps the blank white back of her picture, and gestures toward Katniss and Peeta's faces.

This is one sign that doesn't need interpreting. "No, it's not going to come to that," Finnick insists, a little too loudly. "I can protect all three of you."

Mags' fingers are still arguing with him, but Finnick won't back down.

"Were you even watching my Games? I can do anything. I'm amazing. I'm the best there is."

"Given that," Johanna begins, interrupting the debate. "Given that you're the best, would you consider switching guard duty with me? There are two of them I'm guarding, and they're both bigger than I am. I can kill them, no problem, but protecting is harder. I honestly think I'd have a better shot at keeping Mags alive. She's more my size, and less of a liability." Johanna's five foot four, and Mags is a good four inches shorter and quite a few pounds lighter. If Johanna needs to carry Mags out of danger quickly, she's pretty sure she can, whereas she doesn't have a prayer of doing more than dragging Beetee.

She sees the panic set in on Finnick's the moment he realizes that what she's saying makes sense. His mouth opens and closes while he visibly tries to come up with something other than _No. No. Absolutely not._

"You're just trying to get out of babysitting Nuts and Volts," he finally accuses her, in an obvious move to stall for time.

She doesn't deny it, just smirks. "Yeah, and so are you, but at least I can come up with a reason."

Finnick flounders more, his face turning hot. He looks to Mags for rescue, then looks suddenly terrified that the mastermind of Four thinks it's a brilliant plan. But she's got a faint smile on her face and a look of uttermost tenderness, and she puts her hand on his on the table.

Johanna rolls her eyes to cover her envy at having a mentor like Mags, but Finnick suddenly exhales at Mags' touch like it's released him. "Package deal," he says conclusively. "That's my reason."

Johanna's put out, but smiling a little too. She didn't really think she had a chance of splitting them up. "Fine."

"If Mags and I don't end up with Katniss after the bloodbath," Finnick promises Johanna, "I'll do what I can to get Beetee and Wiress while we're looking for her. And if I do end up with Katniss and Peeta, and you with Nuts and Volts, I'll do what I can to find you and take over babysitting."

"I'll do what I have to do." Johanna sighs. "Can I give Katniss a hard time about it afterwards, though?"

"Depending on how the Hunger Games play out," Finnick tells her, "you may have to stand in line."

Mags pushes at the photographs and moves them along. The clock is ticking.

* * *

Mags lets Finnick give her a hand getting out of her chair after lunch, and she lets him escort her to her room at night. For over a year, she's been keeping a firm hand on her independence. Even now, she makes him go do reconnaissance by checking out the other tributes in the training room, while she practices survival skills that are years rusty, but that come back with surprising ease.

But she's stopped pretending not to lean on him. With the Quarter Quell only days away, it's more unclear than ever who's taking care of whom. Finnick goes through his days cocky as hell, acting like his victory is a foregone conclusion. The only doubt he publicly admits to is whether Mags will make it to the arena, and for that he insists she needs him nearby in case she falls and breaks her hip, or has another stroke. They've always used her age as a camouflage for their teamwork.

When he disappears behind her closed doors at night, though, it's to lie beside her in bed, tense, shivering, silently wrestling with the thoughts that haunt him. Mags is almost glad the stroke means she isn't expected to say anything, because she can't find any words. Her hand, holding his or stroking his hair, is all the comfort she can give.

Tonight she has no comfort. As soon as they enter her room, Mags moves to sit at the breakfast table and pulls out the pictures of the tributes that she had pocketed earlier. A sharply inhaled gasp from Finnick tells her that he knows what's coming.

"Mags-"

Katniss. Peeta. And herself, face down, only the blank white back of the printout showing.

Finnick comes to her and kneels by her feet. Mags takes his hands in hers, and then she touches his cheek gently, telling him that she knows this isn't easy for him.

"It's not going to come to that." He may be repeating his earlier words, but he's not laughing this time. They come out in a whisper, a plea with the universe.

Mags holds on, comforting and waiting. Not relenting.

Finnick sits back on his heels and squeezes her hands. Some kind of resolution settles on his face. "I'll let you decide what you want when the time comes. That's all I can promise, Mags."

Mags nods and squeezes back, though her stomach is clenched in fear. He's leaving her a way out at the last minute, and hoping she'll take it. She's counter-hoping that she has what it takes not to, and wishing he weren't making this harder on her. Because she wants so badly to believe he's right, that he can pull this off. He is her boy, after all, and he's done the impossible before.

But Mags didn't spend her life working in secret to undermine her war now.

The last contribution she can count on is going to have to be helping Finnick through this. Everyone else is obsessing over Katniss's state of mind, but she's remembering all the years she and Finnick spent working together. A child falling asleep in her arms, a man coming home with memories he won't talk about. She only has now to get through to him.

 _I'm proud of you. Did I tell you that? I thought I had time._ How in the rolling sea she thought she had time, she has no idea, but every day was like the one before, until suddenly it wasn't.

Finnick lays his head in her lap for a moment. Then he raises his eyes to hers, stricken. "I'm sorry, Mags. I didn't know."

Mags pulls him close, winds her fingers through his hair. She can feel his chest heaving silently. _It's not your fault._ How does she tell him that?

Yes, it was his idea to get Katniss out of the arena, and he was confident he could pull it off. Yes, he convinced everyone in Four to let the Reaping happen, so he could volunteer if he wasn't reaped. When no one, not even Mags, could figure out how to send a male tribute without a female one, she agreed to volunteer too, and never breathed a hint of doubt when he promised her she'd come home.

But it's not his fault that Katniss turned out to have a mind of her own. It's not his fault that Peeta volunteered, or that Katniss decided she'd rather die than walk out without Peeta. It's not his fault that his priorities suddenly got turned on their head, or that Mags is preparing to pay the price of his confidence.

 _My boy._ She lays her hand on his chest, feels his heart pounding, and he takes a deep breath, getting himself under control. Showing her, even now, that he's thinking, not reacting. _I'm proud of you._

When they turn out the lights, she pretends to be asleep, sensing that he needs privacy while he cries.

But once he's breathing slowly and quietly, Mags feels a strange sort of peace settle over her. Four is in rebellion. A lot of good men and women are going to die, but she's lived to see this day. She's dragged unwilling children into the arena, but she's trained the ones who are going to fight their people free of these shackles. After everything she did to make Annie hate her, she brought Finnick into Annie's life, and Annie forgave her. They'll be in good hands, both of them: each other's.

The only loose thread is her own life. Bittersweet as it's been, no part of her wants to let go. She may be eighty years old to look at, but like she told Annie, she'll never stop being surprised to catch sight of herself in the mirror and not see a fifteen-year-old girl.

But that fifteen-year-old has been living on borrowed time for over sixty years, and Mags has dedicated her life to earning that time. She can't stumble at the finish line.


	2. Chapter 2

_Two dead men fucking._

Finnick doesn't usually find it so hard to quell the inappropriate, borderline hysterical laughter that sometimes threatens to spill over at moments like this, but the mask is unusually loose tonight. For once, he's not trying to get anything out of his partner.

He's bent over the table in Cinna's studio, trying to keep his mind on what they're doing—or rather, what Cinna's doing to him—but his thoughts keep skittering away. Tomorrow, he'll be in the arena, and his odds are still better than Cinna's. Finnick counts himself lucky that, all these years later, the other man is still hot after his body, because it's the only tribute he can pay to the courage that went into making Katniss's mockingjay dress.

 _Tribute._ This time, Finnick does let out the start of an involuntary laugh before he chokes it back. When Cinna hesitates, obviously intending to check in on him, Finnick gives an encouraging roll of his hips, and they carry on.

He doesn't think Cinna ever figured out about the forced prostitution. Most people haven't; Finnick's a first-rate actor. He's certain Cinna hadn't figured it out nine years ago, when Finnick was playing a crazy boy let loose in the Capitol for the first time and eager to try everything.

He himself never figured out Cinna had any subversive inclinations. They've been going through the Capitol on the fringes of each other's awareness, like ships passing in a fog. And now it's too late. Cinna must be part of Plutarch's circle, and Finnick never knew.

When Cinna gasps out his climax, he leans over Finnick's back and recovers for a minute, then claps Finnick on the hip as he straightens. "Your stylist," he says, admiringly, reproachfully. "Giving me a heart attack at the chariots."

Finnick laughs. "Not a bad way to go, yeah?" He can't let on why he's really here—ostensibly it's to get some comfort or distraction while _he_ stares death in the face—but he can hope Cinna's clever enough to read between the lines. _It's all I can give you._ "You regret requesting Twelve?"

Cinna hesitates, and Finnick can tell he's deciding how many layers of meaning to read into his words. _Come on, catch on._ "Almost," Cinna finally acknowledges, his eyes fixed on Finnick's. "Not quite."

"I'll be teaming up with Katniss, if we can find each other after the bloodbath," Finnick tells him. He tries to think of a way to make this sound encouraging and not threatening. "She's really quite something."

Finnick's ready to die for her, and Cinna's going to die thinking Finnick's out to kill her. The lies Finnick lives tear him apart sometimes. But he carries on because he has to.

"She is," Cinna says softly.

Finnick will never be quite sure how much got through, but he knows he has to live with uncertainty and hope that something did. If not the message that Finnick's on his side, then at least one pleasurable memory before he dies.

Afterward, Finnick almost heads back to his room to clean up, but then he wonders why he should bother. He's tired, and he has nothing to hide from Mags. He'll have his last hot shower first thing in the morning, before he goes to war.

Mags is asleep when he gets back. Insomnia or no insomnia, Finnick knows he needs to join her. He tosses and turns, and grits his teeth, and tries not to think about tomorrow. He pulls the covers up and pushes them down again. Mags twitches, and he freezes in place. The least he can do is not steal her sleep from her.

Maybe it's focusing on her breathing and trying not to move that does it, but at long last, Finnick finally falls asleep.

He looks around and it's a week later, with twenty-two tributes dead. He can't remember how they died, or how he's sure it's twenty-two, which briefly unnerves him. Shouldn't he be keeping track? But then he shakes it off.

Along with him, Cashmere's the last one left standing. He's just watched her kill Brutus, helped her haul his body off hers, then given her hand while she got to her feet. She tugs her clothes back into place, but there's nothing she can do about the bruises. "I can't go back," she says. "Not after this. You go. You were kind to me."

"Nightlock is quick," Finnick tells her. He's not sure where his own clothes went, but he tells himself that's not important. Probably just sponsor bait.

He lays her body out beside the Cornucopia for the hovercraft to retrieve, kisses her forehead one last time, and steps back, waiting for the music to begin, announcing the victor of the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games.

Instead, a whining noise signals the rising of another tribute through the tube. Cinna appears on a pedestal. "I defied President Snow," he explains. "He'll never let me live after this."

"Is he making me his executioner?" Finnick demands, outraged. He looks around and realizes he's standing on his own pedestal, back where he started.

Cinna only looks sad. "It's faster than anything else he'll give me."

Finnick's the last one left in the arena when Annie emerges on a different pedestal. "I was always going to kill myself someday. I've been mad since the last time they put me in here. I only hoped you'd be around to hold me when I did."

She nestles in his arms while he silently hands her a handful of nightlock. "I've always felt safe with you," she sighs. Her head is on his shoulder for her final and fatal meal.

Finnick cradles her body on his lap and won't relinquish it, still waiting for the music. He's the last one left alive.

He sees three prongs of a trident rising first, then Rudder emerging wielding it. "They want a fight to the death," Rudder explains. "We're all here for their entertainment."

Finnick's better than Rudder, and he has been for a long time. "The student surpasses the teacher" are Rudder's dying words, a faint smile on his lips.

After the cannon goes off for Rudder, and his chest no longer rises, words still come from his unmoving mouth. "Mags was always proud of you. And you killed her."

The hovercraft descends, and a weeping Finnick is alone again in the arena.

Primrose Everdeen appears. She looks nothing and everything like Katniss. "They want to break you," she explains. She's wearing a Reaping Day dress, not the jumpsuit of the Games.

Finnick starts to scream. Annie went mad, so can he. Maybe then they'll leave him alone. He can sell his body for medication, it won't be anything new.

But no, they won't leave him alone. He hears a familiar gabbling, and he knows they have a recording of Mags' voice. "You're dead!" he shouts, trying to drown it out. "It's a trick! You're dead!"

Her voice gets louder, though, breaking through the sounds of his sobbing gasps. He jerks sharply. "Mags?"

Finnick hears her crooning wordlessly, bringing him back from his nightmare. Again.

"I can't save anyone," he cries, despairing. "Cashmere thinks she's better off dead than publicly called a slut; Annie's a fighter, but she's alone again and she's going to lose this battle; Cinna's thrown his life away with that gown; I would have volunteered for Rudder, but—you-"

Mags shakes her head firmly. He's not to fret over her.

"And Annie's having nightmares, and she doesn't have anyone there to hold her, and she won't let me move in-"

Mags is shushing him gently, holding her finger to his lips. Half asleep and fully distressed, Finnick remembers that they're in the Capitol facilities, where everything they say can be overheard. He's still officially pretending Annie's nothing special, just the best he can do when he's stuck in the Village.

Breathing hard, he tries to bring himself under control. "I didn't have nightmares before my first Games. I didn't _care_ before my first Games. But I could win these and it _still_ wouldn't matter."

Tenderly, Mags passes her hand downward over his eyes, urging him to sleep. It's only a few hours before dawn on the day they enter the arena for a second time. Mags is right, as always. He tucks his head, one last time, into the curve under her chin, and lets her soothe him back into a restless sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

In the training center, Cashmere's getting a drink of water, and Finnick chooses that moment to decide he's thirsty. She's been around the block too many times to fall for the coincidence.

"You've been missed," she opens pointedly. Everyone's talking about it. Keeping your head down when you're a fourteen-year-old who didn't volunteer is one thing. But skipping out of the Career pack now? What's Finnick up to?

"Heading up a small alliance of my own." Finnick muffles his words over the rim of his glass. "You'd be welcome."

Cashmere hides her _Are you serious?_ behind a mask of doe-eyed helplessness. "And leave my brother?"

Finnick inclines his head regretfully, acknowledging that.

"District Four is always welcome in the Career pack," she reminds him. Now she lets enthusiasm into her voice. "There's a spot waiting for you."

"And Mags?" Cashmere can't tell from his wink if he's joking or not. She thinks fast and hedges her bets.

"She can help keep watch at the Cornucopia, while you duke it out with Brutus for leader of the pack." She winks back, but lets a hint of pain show through her facade. She doesn't know if he's going to fall for such blatant manipulation, barely even knows what outcome she's manipulating for. Killing Finnick? Getting Finnick to kill Brutus? Being the last one standing? Outliving her brother?

 _Come to me if you ever need an ally._ The last thing he said to her before they parted ways two years ago.

She feels a twinge of longing, but even if he meant it at the time, no ally can help her now.

The other tributes are starting to look their way, so Cashmere half turns away. In the same breath, Finnick slowly sets his glass down and does the same. "Come up to floor four if you want to talk alliances more privately," he mutters, without looking at her. "Try Mags' room if I'm not in mine."

Hedging her bets again, Cashmere says nothing.

* * *

Gloss comes out of the bathroom in Cashmere's suite rattling a bottle of pills accusingly in his hands. "What on earth is this?"

Cashmere at once goes on the offensive. "You've been drin-"

"Not enough to interfere with my training!"

"Neither am I!" she insists, hoping she's telling the truth. "Look, it's just to help me sleep, okay?"

Cashmere and her brother glare, as angry as they're capable of getting with each other at a time like this, and then he melts. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Instantly, Cashmere puts out her arms. "It's okay." He's right, they can't afford to squabble in the few days they have left.

Gloss joins her on the sofa. "How long have you been using?" Cashmere flinches. Of course he's recognized it and knows that it's more than just a harmless sleeping pill. "Since the announcement?" he guesses.

Cashmere just nods, looking down at the floor. She knows she should be setting a better example, but spending twelve hours in a pleasant haze is all that allows her to get through the other twelve.

The doorbell sounds. Cashmere hears a voice calling her name, then she places it. Leo. Arranging her face, she gets up.

They've been assigned the same mentors that they had when they won the first time around. Clearly, District One doesn't want to mess with a winning strategy. The only problem is that there's no way to win this year.

"Cashmere, have you seen your-" Leo spots Gloss over her shoulder. "Here you are. I've been looking everywhere for you."

All business, he strides over to where Gloss is sitting and hands him a small box. "I've got your token, from Aurelia. She sent a diamond ring."

Gloss accepts the box from his mentor, but sets it aside without opening it.

"Did Marcella get you yours?" Leo asks Cashmere.

Cashmere nods. The sponsors bid high for the privilege of boasting to their friends that the District One tributes are wearing their tokens on screen. This year, she'll be going in with a sapphire pendant. Marcella's having it restrung now to satisfy the Gamemakers that the chain can't be used to garrote anyone.

"Great. Gloss, I've got your schedule lined up for tonight. Midnight to four, as always. Tonight, Aurelia's got dibs on the first slot, then Donna."

Gloss grits his teeth. Cashmere knows she shouldn't question the arrangements, the mentors always know best, but she can't help warning her brother in an undertone, "Donna can be...brutal."

"I know." To her surprise, it's Leo, and he's got a weary look, like he let his guard down for a split second. He pulls up a chair and sinks into it, facing them as they sit side by side.

Cashmere gives him a searching look. Was Finnick right? It's not just her being punished with an endless list of clients to satisfy?

Then she sees her brother out of the corner of her eye. _No. No, it's just me. Leo's just trying to keep the sponsors happy like everyone else._

With an effort, Leo says more encouragingly, "We have the cameras. The sponsors know the rules about not injuring tributes during the Hunger Games."

"I can take her," Cashmere offers.

"No, you can't!" Gloss's voice shakes. "We both have to go into the arena at the same time, there's no reason for it to be you. I'm a big boy, all right? I'll fucking do it."

"No, but I've always heard she goes softer on women. I'll have an easier time of it." And no matter how bad, that's the glory of recreational drugs. She won't care, and by morning, she'll barely remember.

Leo looks back and forth between them. "That might be best. No offense, but your sister's more popular."

"Oh, I know," Gloss says, with a small smile. "Cashmere the record-setter."

Cashmere's glad she had a brother and not a sister. It means they've never had to compete with each other.

"Cashmere, I'll need to talk to Marcella about who's on your list tonight. You're too popular to risk offending anyone."

"Or I can take an extra slot," Cashmere suggests, trying to make this easy on everyone. "I could be ready to start at ten."

"Maybe it's not worth it," Gloss says, despondent. "It's not like we're both going to come back. Why even bother?"

Cashmere's shocked, but Leo has a ready answer. "Because of next year's tributes, and every year after that. We'll have to deal with the fallout if you make the sponsors angry."

"We have to do the right thing for our district," Cashmere tells Gloss. She knows how unhappy the President gets when you don't. "I'm happy to take her, Leo."

"Good girl. I'll see if she's willing to make the swap. Then you'll have Tarquin instead, Gloss, after Aurelia." Leo pauses, and looks the pair over. "You're training together?"

Cashmere and Gloss give him a look of disbelief that he thinks there was any other way to do this.

He looks uncomfortable. "All right, well, we need to talk strategy. If you try your hardest, I really think both of you have a shot-"

"No," Gloss interrupts, "'both of us' don't. One of us might, but 'both of us' is not an option."

"You know what I mean," Leo snaps, just as frustrated. "Look, I'm trying to do the best I can by both of you. I don't make the rules."

"We know you are," Cashmere assures him hastily. She takes Gloss's hand. "Let's just work out our strategy, okay?"

Gloss looks unhappy but doesn't protest, and Leo resumes his pep talk.

"Brutus is formidable, yes, but he's past his prime."

"Bookies seem to think he's got better odds than us," Gloss points out.

"All right, but bookies are wrong a lot of the time, and what I'm saying is that at least you're not dealing with him ten or twenty years ago. I'm not saying to underestimate him. Enobaria's still young, but rumor has it she's unstable-"

Marcella had said she was more likely to think ahead than Brutus, but Cashmere doesn't argue. Obviously, she's misunderstanding something.

"Does anyone know what Finnick's up to?"

"Well, let's see." Gloss ticks off on his fingers. "He's in his prime, he's still got the sponsorship record, he's been spotted hobnobbing with the head Gamemaker and it's only the first day, he's probably going to stage an orgy for his evaluation and get a twelve, the arena's going to be a giant ocean with fish and tridents...I would say he's up to winning."

"You can't afford to think like that!" Leo explodes. "You've got as much of a chance as-Cashmere! You're usually better behaved than this."

"Sorry!" She really didn't mean to snort out loud. It's bad manners. But Gloss is right that the whole Capitol will be pulling to get Finnick back.

"You've got as much of a chance as you did last time," Leo repeats, with annoyed emphasis on each word. "Unless you hobble yourself beforehand with an attitude like that. I'll talk to the other mentors about what they've figured out. I do know that District Four didn't bring any mentors, which is going to handicap him when it comes to translating his funds into gifts."

"He's not with us," Cashmere supplies. "He said he's going to lead his own pack."

"Did he say who else is in it?" Leo asks, at the same time as Gloss turns to her and demands, "Did he try to recruit you?"

She gives Gloss a small nod, and tells Leo, "I'm not sure. Maybe Mags, but I couldn't tell."

"Probably Johanna, then." Leo thinks. "She's a killer, but when it comes right down to it, not a trained warrior. No weapons proficiency to speak of. Stay sharp and don't let her take you out when you're not looking, and you should be able to outlast her. Maybe Katniss, he was seen talking to her before the chariots took off." He doesn't say it, but everyone knows she's slated for death this week. The only trick is to avoid her arrows until she's taken out.

Gloss rolls his eyes. "Great, now he's not only holding an orgy with the Gamemakers, he's got a harem going in the arena."

"Okay, I'm going to work out strategy with Cashmere and then you can just do whatever she tells you when you get there, because she is obviously the only one taking this seriously."

Cashmere's seen Leo lose his temper any number of times, but never at a tribute he was mentoring. She can't blame him, but she can't blame her brother either. This is harder than Leo's willing to admit.

"I'm sorry." Gloss sounds sincere, even defeated. "I'm just having trouble 'trying my hardest' to kill my sister."

"No one's asking you to kill her!"

"I'm not trying to kill you!"

Leo and Cashmere erupt at the same time, and Gloss hangs his head heavily. "I know. I just..."

Cashmere pulls his hand onto her lap. "I know. But whatever happens, we're doing this together."

Just then, the door chimes again. Cashmere's expecting Marcella, but she's too tired and things are too complicated. She looks to Leo, who nods and goes for the door while she and Gloss hang on to each other. She brushes a lock of her brother's hair behind his ear, trying to help him get back in the zone.

"Can we work together?" she whispers to him.

Gloss gives her a bleak look, but nods. "We always do." Her stomach twists, remembering all the secrets she's kept from him. But she'll protect him, as always, to her last breath.

Leo briefs Marcella quickly, and she joins them. She and Cashmere don't make eye contact, not since Marcella tried and failed to get her to commit to volunteering, and then watched Cashmere _and_ her brother get reaped, with no volunteers.

"Is it worth trying to get him in the Career pack?" Marcella wonders, glancing meaningfully at the pendant she's handing to Cashmere. All anyone seems to know how to do is act like this is a normal year.

Leo raises his eyebrows, then nods. "Better where you can see him than setting traps all over the arena," he agrees.

"I...can try?" Cashmere says, trying to be cooperative to the end. "I just don't know if any victor worth his salt can be seduced into a losing strategy."

"Well, at least try to get more information about what he's planning?"

"For all I know, he's trying to get information out of me about the pack's plans. He must know I'm not going to pit myself against Gloss."

"Fair enough," Marcella says. "You and Finnick are too evenly matched."

Cashmere doesn't want to admit she doesn't want to kill Finnick. She doesn't want to kill Brutus. She can't be the only one, not when all the victors know each other. No, she has to be the only one. No one else is going to risk disgracing their district.

Now killing Katniss, that she could get behind. She's still furious every time she thinks of the berries. Or Johanna. Johanna's always smirking at Cashmere like she's stupid and Johanna knows something she doesn't. Maybe Cashmere can get in a kill worth bragging points for her district before it's her turn.

With Gloss quieter, the rest of the strategy discussion goes more quickly and uneventfully. Cashmere and Gloss play along, and agree to everything they're told to do. It's not long before their mentors are leaving and telling them to get some rest before they have to start prep at ten—Cashmere at eight.

As soon as the door closes, Gloss turns to her. "You don't really think-"

Cashmere shakes her head. "No. But we have to go down fighting, right? We follow their strategies, we make our district proud, and we don't have any control over the rest." Brutus _and_ Enobaria _and_ Finnick _and_ Katniss _and_ Johanna...Cashmere's sure they could take any one of them, but all of them? Not a chance. Even if a miracle happened, some miracle that would be. Her only comfort is in the odds, that it _won't_ be her and Gloss at the very end.

"No one understands." Gloss puts his arm around her. "No one ever understands."

Cashmere knows immediately what he means. In a way, they've always only had each other. "Mom and Dad...they kept talking about what an honor it would be to have their daughter not only win a Quarter Quell but win two Games. It was like they didn't think there was any chance I could lose. Maybe I made it look too easy?"

In the Justice Building, saying goodbye to first their daughter and then their son, they'd finally understood.

"They were never there. How could they know?"

Cashmere nods. "Marcella knew, but she kept saying we had to send our best shot and that was me, with the sponsors and the way I'd kept sharp all these years."

"I didn't realize you were under so much pressure," Gloss says quietly. He's put in his time at the academy, and he can't be accused of letting himself go, but he hasn't kept at the top of his game either. Cashmere has, because training was the only thing that let her sleep at night. Now she doesn't even have that.

"You're not disappointed that I wouldn't?" She'd been afraid to tell him, up until yesterday, when the worst happened.

Gloss hugs her tight. "What did I say about no one else understanding?"

They stay there, holding on to each other, until finally Gloss notices the time. "Don't you need to get ready?"

Against every impulse to stay right where she is, Cashmere pulls herself together to do the right thing. She has to be the good girl, set a good example.

"Suppose so. Good luck tonight. I'll see you in the morning."

She's careful, as she leaves, to make sure her smile is the last thing he sees of her.

* * *

The Hunger Games facilities have stairwells on either side of the building, in the event the elevators become unusable. The stairwells are enclosed, rarely used, and deeply private. How Cashmere ended up in one, she's not really sure, nor where she thought she was going. The drug she took an hour ago keeps her from thinking about going into the arena tomorrow, at the cost of keeping her from thinking at all.

This is how she gets herself stuck sitting on the stairs just below the door to the second floor, with Brutus beside her, his body blocking any thought of escape. He's easily the largest of the tributes, and while with a weapon she has a chance of taking him out tomorrow, tonight she's not getting away. All she can do is go along with whatever he wants, and maybe it won't be so bad.

Right now, what he wants is an audience. "Pretty boy thinks he's too good for the Career pack, eh? Taking him out and watching everyone's dreams turn to ash is going to be so sweet." He rambles on with disparaging comments about the tributes and his plans for them.

"Don't you worry, though, peach. I'm saving you for last. It's going to be just you and me in the arena, nothing to stop me from enjoying your charms, one last time." His hands close around either side of her waist and he pinches her, making an appreciative sound. "You've never even pretended not to like it. You're just the easiest thing on two legs. Not to worry, your brother will never even find out."

One of the benefits of the drug trip is that none of this sounds as bad as it might. She's already realized she has no reason to believe she's going to make it out alive. Making it to second place isn't much more likely. Mostly what's registering on her consciousness right now is that the walls are wavering, and the only thing grounding her is the solid grip he's keeping on her waist.

"Well, that's quite the plan you have there." The arch voice comes from higher up the stairwell. "Go back to the part where you survive taking on Finnick, and how you're pulling that one off."

Cashmere and Brutus look up to see Johanna Mason standing a few flights up. She's leaning casually over the rail and smirking down at them.

"You really think I give you the details now, and then you run and tell your boyfriend?" Brutus asks sarcastically.

"No," she drawls, deadpan. "I'm seriously worried about your sanity. My plan, if you want to know, is taking notes while you and Finnick kill each other. Raping Cashmere, not on my to-do list."

Brutus laughs chillingly. "Oh, you can't rape this girl. Trust me. She's easy."

"Brutus, whatever you're smoking that makes you think there's anyone willing to have anything to do with you, you could share. Must be the same shit you were smoking when you volunteered. Must be the good stuff."

All this time, Johanna is coming down the stairs, pausing every few steps as she bears down on Brutus, disdainful and amused at once. Cashmere wishes she hadn't come. She wants a rescuer, but Johanna can't do anything about Brutus, and all she's accomplishing is making Cashmere feel inadequate. Johanna may not be pretty, but she's fearless, quick-witted, and nimble. Next to her, Cashmere feels sluggish in body and mind, incompetent to do anything but kill and spread her legs. And right at the moment, she's not much good for killing.

Brutus's body language shifts gradually to something more antagonistic as Johanna's descent continues. She's not being overtly threatening, but her attitude is challenging.

She pauses two flights above them, stares down at Brutus with a measured gaze, and then steps through the door to the side.

Brutus starts to laugh, a minute later. "Floor four. Paying a late-night visit to the pretty boy." He elbows Cashmere. "You want to go stand in line at his door? Last chance before you all go out to die."

Honestly, anything sounds more appealing than being here, but she doesn't think Brutus really plans to let her go. The safety of the fourth floor is nothing more than a mirage.

"Hell, maybe I should save him for last," he muses, "fight you at the Cornucopia. Sex is all he's good for any more, and he acts like he likes it just as much as you. Bet I could get him to scream."

Cashmere suppresses a jaw-cracking yawn and waits for him to finish. At least her brother's not here to see her like this.

* * *

In the morning, she and Gloss have to pry themselves apart when they say goodbye. The only thing holding her together is the need to play the big sister, not let on how devastated she is.

Sitting in the hovercraft, being taken to the arena, Cashmere can't stop looking around at the other tributes and thinking about the betting odds, which are a lot more honest than the scores. Brutus, Finnick, and Katniss are the undisputed frontrunners, which makes her wonder if District One is wrong about Katniss. Enobaria's doing respectably by Career standards. No one gives Cashmere or Gloss good odds of surviving, least of all Cashmere and Gloss. Johanna's on par with them in the books, mildly surprising but only mildly. And Beetee just might kill them all. A win from anyone else would be a fluke.

Cashmere can't be the only one thinking, _Better Brutus or Finnick than Katniss._

In the arena, Cashmere swims her hardest and most desperate, but Finnick's already at the Cornucopia and armed when she approaches. The long wheel-spokes between tributes are making it difficult for the Career pack to form, so Finnick holds this side unchallenged. Cashmere can't see what's happening on the other side.

She dives, trying to see if the spokes run all the way to the bottom, or if she can swim under until she finds an ally. She can, but the Career pack is still too spread out. Emerging a minute later in a different sector to take stock of the situation, she sees Finnick running past on one of the spokes next to her. Still alone and unarmed, she gasps and ducks her head under the water again, hoping to go unnoticed. If he sees her, she doesn't stand a chance. The water is the stupidest place to hide from Finnick. But she has no other choice.

And he's gone. And the Cornucopia is empty. Cashmere swims for it, coming on it simultaneously with Enobaria. Brutus is pulling himself up already and grabbing a spear. Cashmere ignores District Two until she has a sword in her hand.

"Where's Gloss?" she snaps, looking all around into the water.

He's the last to emerge, and he only pulls himself up onto the edge. Cashmere sees an arrow sticking out of his leg, and she runs to him.

Gloss pushes her away. "Go, get weapons, get supplies," he hisses.

She leaves him, because he's right. Neither of them trusts District Two, and they have to be prepared to fend for themselves. Brutus and Enobaria have armed themselves and are setting off to slaughter anyone foolish enough to remain in the circle surrounding the Cornucopia.

Only after having established herself on an equal footing with Brutus and Enobaria in terms of holding the Cornucopia does Cashmere return to her brother. She hands him a sword and a knife, and a pack with everything useful she could grab before someone else did. No medical supplies.

The best she can do is a leather sheath for Gloss to bite down on when she extracts the arrow. He takes off his shirt for her to bind the wound with. She's no doctor, and so it's both more painful and dangerous than it should be.

Shortly after they begin, the parachutes start dropping. At least prostitution pays.

When the other two, covered in blood, dirt, and sweat, finally amble over to see how it's going, Gloss is sitting propped up on a rock. His wounded leg dangles below the water. The salt is excruciating, and who knows what lurks beneath, but at least the others can't see the extent of the damage. The most dangerous sharks are standing behind them.

"Did anyone see which way Finnick or Katniss went?" Enobaria demands. "She shot at me, but missed." Enobaria's determined to position herself as the brains of this operation, but Brutus is the one Cashmere's maneuvering around.

Brutus looms with his arms folded, smirking. "They ran off together. Looks like she didn't miss all her shots."

"I can swim," Gloss says, "and I can kill." But he declines to stand.

Cashmere stands for him, just to reduce the intimidating height differential between Districts One and Two. Brutus may stand a good six inches over her, but she's trying to walk a line between not provoking him into taking her out early, but not being so submissive that he can't resist the easy prey. She has a brother to protect. That's why she was so fierce in holding her own during the divvying up of the Cornucopia spoils.

"So he's abandoning the Cornucopia like last time, but he has allies this time. That could be either good or bad for him." Enobaria has spent the last five days watching and rewatching the tapes of Sixty-Five and Seventy-Four, analyzing Finnick's and Katniss's every move, and berating Brutus for being such an idiot as to volunteer. Brutus just laughed.

Cashmere and Gloss look at each other and nod, silently renewing their agreement to go down fighting.

Cashmere can't help noticing later that Brutus took off his shirt when no one was looking, pretending he's not competing with Gloss. Well, he'll have his share of sponsors, even if not as many as District One. A few days ago, the sight of that heavily muscled torso would have aroused her with fantasies of being shoved down and taken, but today she's in survival mode. She'll protect her brother, but aside from that, she has her shell up. She won't cry, she won't run, and she won't be pushed around by anyone.

She surprises herself with how little afraid she is. Mostly what she feels is numbness. Though in the back of her mind is a frightened child who doesn't want to die, screaming _No one told me!_ , on the surface is a voice coolly appraising the situation. She expected last night's tranquilizer to have worn off by now, but if that's why she's so detached, maybe the miscalculation wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Enobaria announces the plan. "We'll stay one night here, let the arena weaken the competition while we rest and eat, then we go hunting."

Cashmere and Gloss go along with it for the unspoken reason that it buys Gloss's leg a day.

Brutus laughs. "If you were really worried about Finnick, you wouldn't give him time to lay traps, or Katniss a chance to set an ambush, but I say if they're going to run away, they're good endgame material, so we mop up the outliers first."

No one argues.

They formally set four individual watches that night, but Cashmere watches with Enobaria, and Gloss with Brutus. This is part of fending for themselves.

When Enobaria and Brutus decide to go hunting, Cashmere has to go with them to protect District One's interests. If she isn't part of the pack, if it becomes One versus Two, she and Gloss stand to lose. Gloss stays behind to guard the Cornucopia.

Cashmere does wonder how they know if Brutus is leading them toward or away from Finnick, but since she knows her best chance is for a quick death before whatever Brutus has in mind for her, she doesn't ask. That doesn't mean she wants a quick death, only that she knows a noose is what she should be hoping for.

Despite all the times she's toyed with the idea of killing herself, now that she's actually faced with it, she realizes she wants to live. Even constantly humiliated, even struggling to keep her brother from finding out everything that's wrong in her life, she desperately wants to keep breathing. Now, of course, that she doesn't have a choice.

The Career pack makes it back to the center of the arena without any mishaps they can't handle. Holding her breath, Cashmere squints toward the Cornucopia and makes out her brother, looking alive at least. Every cannon that the pack didn't cause ratcheted Cashmere's heart rate up another notch. Only the sight of Gloss starts it back down on the path to normal.

No chance, she supposes, of getting a pill from her sponsors. Last night's obviously has no more to give.

On the far side of the shore, they see what looks like Finnick, Katniss, and a few allies. A surprisingly large pack, larger than their own. But overall less well trained and less well armed, they agree.

"If we go after them now, they'll run, then ambush us in the jungle," Enobaria says. "We should see if we can come out of the foliage behind them, pin them between us and Gloss."

"Too many ways of going wrong," Brutus disagrees. "Pull Gloss out of the Cornucopia, let them think we've all gone hunting. Then surround them, but come in closer together than we could when we were spread out."

"Yes, let them get better equipped, and come up on Finnick out of the water, because he has no experience with that. You're a genius, I love it."

Brutus ignores Enobaria's sarcasm. "Go get your brother," he orders Cashmere casually.

She obeys, because a confrontation between Brutus and Finnick is exactly what everyone is praying for, what all the halls of the training facilities were buzzing with. If they kill each other, then maybe, just maybe...

She knows Gloss will agree, because, no matter what the outcome, they have to fight. Today, tomorrow, next week, it doesn't matter. Getting up the determination to die is not something she can do just once. Her will to be brave fluctuates, and she has to push it along with outside assistance, like these suicidal plans.

Outnumbered three to one, Enobaria has to go along with the plan or risk not being part of the Career pack.

Cashmere swims out to where her brother is. He's leaning back against a rock, gritting his teeth but hanging in there. She explains the plan.

Gloss says the same thing Enobaria said. "So we lure them into the place where the weapons are and come up on them out of the water?"

"You know it's stupid, I know it's stupid, Enobaria knows it's stupid. Brutus just wants to catch Finnick before he can run away again. I guess time will tell if that's stupid. But we have to fight."

She doesn't say why, can't say on television that the endgame will be worse and they have to be gone by then.

"How's your leg?"

Gloss shrugs. "Almost totally numb. Stiff. I can swim, sort of. Let's go."

As they're pulling away from the Cornucopia, Gloss draws close. "Can you take him, do you think?"

"Brutus?" Cashmere doesn't understand why he's asking her this now. They're going to die, aren't they?

"Finnick. Brutus is past-"

"Brutus has kept in shape!" Cashmere interrupts, angry. She ducks under one of the spokes, using the time to try to calm her suddenly beating heart. Numb is better.

"So have you," Gloss persists, when she emerges. "Look, it's not going to be me. Can you go home? You've got sponsors too."

She doesn't want to disappoint him. It was easier when they weren't talking about the possibility of surviving. She knows District Four can't afford the kind of training she got, and that's why they hardly ever win, but Finnick was born for the arena.

"I can try to draw them down on me," Gloss says. "Let Brutus and Finnick fight; there isn't a single one of us who hasn't been waiting for that. See if you can take out whichever one looks like he's winning; that leaves you with the weaker one, hopefully wounded."

"That still leaves Katniss and-" Cashmere stops. There's no point in having this argument. "Look, we go together, okay?"

Just as they're almost in earshot of the shore where Brutus and Enobaria are waiting, Gloss grabs her hand. "Promise me you'll try."

She doesn't say anything, torn. But finally, when Brutus is leading them into the ambush, Gloss gives her a furiously pleading look, and she nods once. Then they get into position.

When Katniss's arrow takes Gloss in the chest, Cashmere's heart stops with his. All her promises, all her resolutions to protect her brother, all of it gone. This is it. No more second chances, no more tiny possibility of a fluke, no more wiggle room. The moment when the future becomes the past.

Her will to live and her will to die fade at the same time. If she has either, she can't find them beneath the shock.

Her legs, which had already been given the order to go before Gloss died, are carrying her up over the side of the Cornucopia. Her peripheral vision fades, and she can only see what's directly in front of her. Johanna. Finnick. An axe. A trident.

Finnick's faster on those long legs, and in seconds it's him she's facing.

It's amazing how the brain can focus on irrelevant details at a time like this, like the fact that he's got his trident in the wrong hand.

Irrelevant?

Time slows to a crawl.

 _Come to me if you ever need an ally._

 _I'm heading up a pack of my own. You'd be welcome._

He's ready to kill her, but he hasn't done it yet. She's ready to kill him, but she hasn't done it yet.

Something shifts in Finnick's eyes. "She's with me!" he shouts at his pack.

 _With you?_

"With me!" he shouts at her, gesturing her toward the invasion from District Two.

No conscious decision was made, and yet here she is, fighting beside him. Later, she'll try to justify it by saying she wanted to lead him into a fight with Brutus, that she thought anything was better than being saved for last by Brutus...but none of those reasons make any sense.

Maybe it's that will to live, maybe it's back. Even just to live a few seconds longer.

"Bitch! Whore!" Brutus shouts. But her sword and Finnick's trident are too much. He can't land a blow. Enobaria's standing just out of reach, trying to throw a knife, but the moment Finnick aims his trident at her, trusting Cashmere's sword to hold Brutus for a few seconds, Enobaria ducks behind an outcropping of metal from the Cornucopia. Brutus follows her, dodging an arrow from Katniss.

As soon as they're gone, Finnick spins, putting his body between Cashmere and the aim of Katniss's arrow. She's been standing behind them, trying for a clear shot at Brutus or Enobaria, but she's still only half-lowered her bow now that the immediate danger from the Career pack is past. A new Career pack is forming before her eyes.

"She's with us," Finnick repeats, with all the force of personality that he's capable of. Katniss looks happy to shoot him, but he's holding his trident at the ready, and she knows his death will bring both Johanna and Cashmere down on her. Odds, not in her favor.

"Who's left?" Peeta asks, trying to defuse the situation. As one of the weaker members of the pack, it's in his interests to keep a bloodbath that he can't survive from breaking out. Cashmere's brain is analyzing her new situation on automatic, while her stunned heart tries to catch up.

"Brutus, Enobaria, Chaff," Katniss answers. She and Finnick don't break their stare.

"Three warriors," Finnick adds. "That leaves us with four, plus two who need protecting." He sounds like he's trying to cast the odds as unfavorably as he can, giving them incentive to stick together as long as possible. He and Cashmere could just as easily have chased Brutus and Enobaria. So he must want this alliance. Cashmere doesn't know why.

Without taking his eyes off Katniss, Finnick slowly makes a point of moving his trident out of position, encouraging her to do the same with her bow.

She does, reluctantly, leaving Johanna free to register her own protests. "So, what, she begs nicely and we take her in like a stray dog?"

"Better where we can see her than where we can't," Finnick argues. As if in response to his own words, he steps to the side, putting Cashmere in his peripheral vision. It's been a small risk, turning his back on her, but she knows, and he knows she knows, that if Finnick falls to her hand, Katniss's arrow goes straight through her heart.

She should have done it, gone for a quick death with a good kill to her name, but she missed her chance.

"Better dead," Johanna growls. "You'll strip her weapons, at least."

Finnick shakes his head laughingly. "We can't afford to throw away one of our warriors. Come on, how many times has Katniss drawn a weapon on me? And I haven't stripped her yet."

"As if you could!" Katniss cries, stung.

Cashmere hopes Finnick hasn't provoked Katniss into proving it. "Look, we've both slept with the other on guard and had plenty of opportunities to strip or kill each other," Finnick reminds her. "This may not be an alliance of deep and everlasting trust, but it's not an alliance of premature backstabbing either."

The others look reluctantly half-convinced. Katniss's motives make sense: Johanna's standing about two inches away from her, axe in hand, ready to take her out if she makes a move against Finnick. That's one alliance that'll last until the endgame, and Katniss is better off waiting and trying to catch Finnick and Johanna off guard.

Cashmere's less sure why Johanna's going along with her Finnick's acceptance of her defection, but then, no one's ever known whether Johanna and Finnick were fuck-buddies or something more. All Cashmere can be sure of is that they're both playing to win.

"That said," Finnick continues, turning to Cashmere, "you understand that you defected, and we need to keep an eye on you."

Wordlessly, Cashmere nods. Being taken in on day two, out of the Career pack, is more than she'd any right to hope for. She has no idea what Finnick's up to. Maybe he let Brutus and Enobaria go because he has an understanding with them about what happens later. He is a Career, after all. He really shouldn't be teaming up with these outlying districts.

"You'll keep your weapons," Finnick orders, "but you'll stay in my line of sight at all times. If I see anything I don't like, I kill you. And if they see you and I'm nowhere around, they'll kill you. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Cashmere whispers.

Later that evening, after coming up with a plan to take out Brutus and Enobaria, they enjoy a few minutes of relative peace on the beach. Finnick makes Cashmere sit at the water's edge, while he sits several feet back, watching her and talking quietly with Johanna.

 _Gloss. Gloss._ Each wave that comes in and laps at her feet is one he'll never see.

Should she be glad he can't see her now? He asked her to try for home, but like this? Hesitating to kill, running away from a fight to save her own doomed skin a few minutes longer. What kind of Career behavior is that? She'd better think fast if she doesn't want to disgrace her district.

"I'll avenge you," she whispers, loud enough for the cameras but too quiet for any of her new allies.

There. Let the audience falling all over themselves over the fake romance give a damn about her and her brother.

Besides, Katniss really is her last hope at a kill that will mean something before she goes down. And even if she doesn't pull it off, as long as she dies trying, it should justify her actions.

She only wishes her real motives were that selfless. And that Gloss were alive and she had died before she had that moment of weakness.

After a while Cashmere comes out of her grief enough to realize that if she listens hard, she can just make out the conversation behind her. Maybe they even intend her to. There's no knowing.

"I _thought_ ," Johanna says waspishly, "that when this alliance broke down it was going to be you and me against Twelve, but I _guess_ she puts out and I don't."

Finnick chuckles, waving it off. "Come on, you know that didn't do Sheer any good. No one's stupid enough to let their guard down that far. Flirting is a good show. Sex is death."

"Brutus was going to," Johanna says, low and dangerous. "I overheard his plans, killing you, saving her for last..."

Cashmere knows she should care that Johanna's telling everyone this on camera, but she's too numb. She'll be with her brother before Brutus has a chance to humiliate her in front of the entire country. Unless...that's why Finnick let her defect? Because he had the same idea? Her heart suddenly pounding, Cashmere strains to hear his reply.

"Wow, I...I guess I had a feeling. But if he wasn't just trying to psych her out, he's an idiot. She's a trained killer, and that's a prime way to get a knife in the back. How did you hear this, anyway?"

Maybe he's still lying. _But no, he wouldn't,_ Cashmere tells herself. _He said he knows what it's like. He thinks it's not your fault, that they made you._

"The night before the Games began," Johanna answers, "wandering through the halls."

"So you heard him talking about his plans and didn't tell me? What kind of alliance is that?"

"You weren't in your room. I guess you must have been out looking for her, forming secret alliances of your own."

Was Cashmere looking for Finnick that night when Brutus found her in the stairwell, drugged and unable to keep a train of thought long enough to remember where she was going? She has no idea. That night is too fuzzy. Would Gloss ever have agreed to form a Career pack with Finnick instead of Brutus and Enobaria? She'll never know now.

And what does it matter anyway? Cashmere's just dragging out the inevitable.

"Anyway, it's a good alliance. Brutus is seething at her defection, you saw. And he's had it out for me for ten years. So when he comes, we'll make him choose."

Johanna grunts.

"Besides, I thought to myself, you'll get to die looking at something pretty, why can't I?"

The thwack of Johanna hitting Finnick is audible, as is his chuckle.

Cashmere drops out of the conversation again, tuning them out as best she can.

After some time, Finnick comes over and slides his arm around Cashmere. She stiffens, but doesn't resist. She knows the rules, and there's no way she and Finnick can be on the same team and get away with not giving the audience a show. She wouldn't even mind, except for the timing: if Finnick had done it her way, they'd have done this yesterday, when her brother was still alive.

But she's Cashmere, and she's a good girl, so she leans in to do her part.

Then she realizes Finnick is whispering into her ear as they nuzzle. "I'm sorry. I really am. Wait until the endgame, okay?"

Wait for what? Until she tries to kill him? Cashmere runs her hand up his back while she tries to take in all the upheaval of the last day. Her eyes are open, because you don't close your eyes at a time like this, even if you pretend to, and she sees Katniss and Peeta putting on the same show, not far away.

A red heat fills her vision. She wants her sword in her hand, now.

Suddenly, Cashmere realizes what it is Finnick's asking. "Why?"

He cups her cheek in his hand. "Because she was my ally first, and I have to protect her while we go after District Two. But once the alliance breaks up...I don't have to any more."

"I could die before that happens," Cashmere points out, caressing his earlobe with her teeth.

"But once it does, you have a chance. Look at your last endgame. Right now, you have no chance."

Cashmere nods, slowly. "Endgame, then." She doesn't want to miss her chance to avenge Gloss, that's her only excuse for defecting, but he's right. She's outnumbered five to one, and this alliance is still holding together. There's a reason she hasn't made her move yet.

Cashmere bats her eyelashes appealingly. "How can I be sure you'll help me?"

"I don't want to have to kill her, and I don't want to have to kill you. But I do want to live. So if you two want to kill each other..."

"That's not what I meant," she murmurs throatily, her fingers playing with the zipper on the front of his jumpsuit, and Finnick grins.

Then, in a surprise move, Finnick twists around and calls over his shoulder to Johanna Mason. "Watch my back!"

"Oh, I'll watch it, all right," she promises. "I'll watch the blade sink in." Johanna licks her finger and runs it along the sharp edge of her axe, staring at them with a gleam in her eye.

But Finnick must be sure that's just arena banter, because he turns back to Cashmere, and they get to work on their sponsor funds.

And Cashmere has to remember that that's all this is. She and Finnick are evenly matched, like Marcella said. She can't let herself remember the last time, when he was kind to her.

That was before. This is the _arena_. Her only job now is make sure her district doesn't get punished. If Finnick hadn't offered her an out, everything would be taken care of by now. She just has to stay strong, play this for revenge.

Finnick's still keeping a close eye on Cashmere when they settle down to snatch a few hours of sleep before they have to make a move on the lightning tree. He makes her lie down first, even though she's wide awake.

Johanna speaks quietly to Finnick. "Did you get any sleep?"

"An hour, maybe, before the fog hit."

"I didn't get any. I'll trade you watches."

"I think we'd both better get as much as we can before tonight. We're in a big enough group. Katniss, you slept after the fog, right? Cashmere?"

Cashmere nods.

"Hell, no!" Johanna snarls. "I'm not turning my back on them."

Finnick smiles indulgently. "I think Cashmere wants Katniss before you or me. It'll be fine."

"If I die, I'm doing it with blood on my hands. Not in my sleep. You go on, I'll keep watch."

Finnick sighs. "If you insist. I'll take first watch, I had that hour last night."

"No, I don't trust you any more. You'll decide it's 'fine' and go to sleep on me." Johanna folds her arms across her chest. "It's seventy-two hours when you start to hallucinate, right? I've got thirty-six to go."

Nothing Finnick says can persuade her, so eventually he shrugs and makes a small impression in the sand to sleep in. "Cashmere, you're staying here under my arm so I can feel you move if you decide to take on Katniss. Also so I can die happy."

Johanna rolls her eyes. Cashmere, outnumbered, obeys. She and Finnick do a little more obligatory performing, but she has to remember that it's performing. She can't cry on his shoulder about Gloss, any more than he's clinging to her instead of Mags. But his heart is pounding hard, and she's sure it's not arousal.

She's half surprised when he falls asleep on her, not at all surprised when it's a restless sleep. Half an hour later, he's sitting up again, shaking off a nightmare.

"You go, Johanna," Finnick says, rubbing his eyes and brushing the sand out of his hair.

"You're safe," he promises, when she hesitates. The irony is thick in his voice. "I couldn't fall asleep again if I wanted to. You might as well take this chance while you can."

Johanna wavers, tempted.

"You'll have to sleep sometime," he tells her, amused. "These Games can go on for weeks."

"This one isn't," Johanna says, flatly. "This isn't a normal Games."

He can't deny that. "You'll want to be sharp tonight. There's a big showdown coming."

Johanna stares at him so long it makes Cashmere uncomfortable. It's like she's trying to pick the thoughts from his brain. Finally whatever she sees persuades her, and she's asleep.

Cashmere doesn't sleep. She focuses on reminding herself that Finnick's just trying to trick her.

Like when they're on the way toward the lightning tree, and he puts his hand on her shoulder.

"I don't expect you to believe this," he whispers into her ear, "but I am sorry about your brother."

Cashmere doesn't let herself react. _Arena._

"You'll notice Mags isn't here," Finnick adds. She can't help acknowledging that, but she keeps it to a barely perceptible nod. Maybe he loved Mags the way she loved her brother. But she isn't asking for sympathy. She didn't ask him for her life. Why does he keep making these offers?

Then Finnick straightens, saying no more and leaving just his hand as a link between them as they walk.

When the anthem comes on, everyone freezes in place. Cashmere raises her head to the sky and looks her brother in the face, because it's the last thing she can do for him. Her eyes are dry as she watches the rest of the faces go by.

When Wiress's picture appears, Cashmere tightens her lips with grim pride. At least he went down fighting. That was all the power over their lives that was left to them.

Only when the music fades and Johanna says brightly, "Congratulations on saving your district partner, Katniss! I know how hard that must have been," does Cashmere make the connection. Gloss, Wiress, Mags, Blight, all eliminated today. She wonders how many of the others Katniss took out.

Katniss stiffens, Johanna grins, and Finnick and Peeta both jerk and take half a step closer as though they expect the blood to start flowing. Instinctively, Cashmere's hand tightens around the hilt of her sword. She still doesn't think Finnick's going to choose her over Johanna when the alliance falls apart, hand on her shoulder or not.

But Johanna only laughs and holds up a placating hand, with a sly glance at Finnick. "Hey. Just saying. You're not pissed off? Okay. Have it your way."

Finnick says impatiently, "Right now, I'm focused. I can be pissed off at my leisure later, when I'm still alive."

"Well, with you as the frontrunner, I have to do all my being pissed off now, don't I?"

Johanna's casual, almost flirtatious tone doesn't fool Cashmere. Johanna doesn't think Finnick's going to be the one with leisure time after all this is over. Cashmere only wishes she thought Finnick would let her kill Johanna without immediately avenging her. But Katniss has to be her priority.

Cashmere finds herself disappointed when the team splits up at the tree and Katniss and Johanna disappear into the jungle, leaving Cashmere with two men she could kill in her sleep, and Finnick.

But if they all pair off, Finnick and Brutus and Johanna and Katniss and her and Enobaria, all she has to do is win hers, and...No, she needs to stop deceiving herself. Once the District Two attack is over, if she's still alive, she has to fight Finnick. It'll count as her brother's last wish.

Cashmere turns an involuntary sound deep in her chest into clearing her throat. Finnick glances at her, but when she doesn't say anything, he tells her to stand in front of Beetee and guard him while he prepares to electrocute District Two. He guards Peeta several feet away.

Biding her time, Cashmere positions herself where she's told, wondering which of them Brutus will choose.

He growls when he arrives, but makes for Finnick, leaving Enobaria to take on Cashmere.

Cashmere doesn't have time to feel relief or disappointment, because Enobaria is fierce and furious, and Cashmere can't even give her her full attention. Beetee might stab her at any moment, and she can't afford to take her eyes off Finnick and Brutus either. She has to fight the winner.

She and Enobaria fight, she can't get a blow in, and suddenly Enobaria is ducking behind her and Beetee is screaming. Then silence. Cashmere turns to chase Enobaria, but Finnick is shouting Cashmere's name, and she whirls, prepared to defend herself.

But Finnick is holding his trident out to the side, exposing his chest. "They're regrouping!" he shouts. "Peeta, keep watch. Cashmere, you make one move to step out of my sight and I'll have to kill you."

Dropping to his knees by Beetee, Finnick starts frantically checking his vital signs. "Cashmere, get down here where I can see you."

She hesitates, but he's still got a grip on his trident and an implacable look in his eye, so Cashmere kneels. "Do you think Johanna and Katniss have taken each other out? How come District Two keeps doing that?"

He ignores the first question, feeling around Beetee's limp and gasping body for a wound. "Because they want to win. Either that or they're blinded by all the pretty," he quips.

"Got him in the back," he mutters, his hands coming away from Beetee's body covered in blood. "I'm better at killing people than fixing them."

So is Cashmere. She remembers with shame her inability to make much difference for Gloss past the medications her body brought him.

Beetee doesn't respond to any of Finnick's efforts to help him, nor to any of his urgent questions about whether the plan is still in effect. When Finnick glances up to take stock of their surroundings, Finnick looks around wildly. "Shit!"

Cashmere looks with him, and can't find Peeta. Finnick leaps to his feet and scans the ground for a trail. He kicks at the wire lying on the ground, and then Cashmere realizes what happened. The taut wire Katniss and Johanna had been pulling has gone slack.

"He ran after Katniss. Shit!" Gesturing at Cashmere to follow, Finnick abandons Beetee and the tree without a backwards look. This time he doesn't even bother keeping Cashmere in his line of sight.

After a moment of hesitation, Cashmere follows. There's nothing at the tree but a downed opponent and a lot of lightning that's about to come down. If she wants to fight, this is her chance.

She has surprisingly little trouble catching up to Finnick. Was Brutus right, has he let himself go?

Coming up behind him, staying a good few feet away, Cashmere tries to get into position to gut him from behind. But she spends too long trying to find the perfect position, and the moment never comes. At a crashing noise, Finnick grabs her arm and pulls her into the cover of a few bushes.

It's Enobaria, racing by, but much too far for a sword. Finnick aims his trident, but she's gone, and he shakes his head. This is how he won last time, Cashmere remembers, but he was fourteen.

But who is she to criticize? This is why you're not supposed to know anyone you're put into the arena with. _It's not fair!_

He certainly hasn't killed Cashmere any more than she's killed him, both of them by now pretty clearly hoping the arena will do it. She doesn't envy whoever will have to explain their reluctance to Caesar after the fact.

Finnick pulls her on, and they follow the wire until it ends abruptly. Then he starts hunting for signs of Peeta. Or so Cashmere thinks. When Finnick starts calling Johanna's name between gasps, Cashmere gives up trying to figure out what's going on.

Nothing makes sense, not even when they're back at the tree and Katniss is aiming her bow at them. Finnick's holding out his trident _again_ like he's lost his taste for the kill, and Katniss is hesitating. Cashmere wants Katniss dead so badly she can taste it, but she doesn't have a distance weapon that'll match up to Katniss's arrow.

Her best strategy now is to let Finnick occupy Katniss so she can make her move on the girl while she's shooting Finnick. If Cashmere goes out the same way her brother did, she'll die making him proud.

She has no idea why Finnick grabs her arm to stop her—he should be glad she has a higher priority than killing him!—or what he says to Katniss. She's too deep in the zone to make out words.

Cashmere has no idea why, while she's busy fighting off his iron grip, Katniss shoots the sky instead of Finnick, or what happens after that.

And she has no idea why she wakes up again.


End file.
